


all of a sudden, I miss everyone

by rustywrites



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Gen, post-comic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-28 16:42:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/309895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rustywrites/pseuds/rustywrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Visiting?” Her voice was sharp. She had the air of a very old fashioned librarian about her.</p><p>“Yes,” Nelson responded first, pulling his hands from his pockets as he approached the desk. Rolf remained several paces out of sync with him, and silent.</p><p>“Name?”</p><p>“Byron Lewis.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	all of a sudden, I miss everyone

**Author's Note:**

> From years ago, just dug this up on my old LJ.

Maine, as a whole, was a very quiet place. It was nothing like New York, whose endless, drumming rhythm bombarded your senses with every step; whose neon fueled energy could rob sleep from you like god damn Morpheus himself. No, in Maine, there was only silence, interrupted by the soft hush of nature or the subtle hum of civilization, so far off and distant you’d swear it was just an insect buzzing in your ear.

The highway had turned into a two lane street about twenty miles back, and was now proceeding to weave nonchalantly through imposing forests. Nelson had the distinct feeling that Rolf was speeding as he watched the trees blur by from the passenger seat, but he didn’t say anything. They’d been driving for hours and anything that could get them to their destination a little sooner was to be seen as a gift, rather than a danger.

Neither of them spoke as the trees finally gave way to a man made clearing, around which an all-too-alien electric fence had been erected. At the center, a gaunt looking building made of huge bricks that had once been painted a shade of white that exposure to the elements had rendered an eerie shade of grey. There weren’t many windows, and those that were there were covered with bars.

Rolf turned the car onto the narrow driveway that lead up to the gatehouse, a tiny shed of a building that looked a decade or so more recent than the hospital itself. The guard inside was a middle aged man, clutching a crossword puzzle magazine in his left hand and a pen in his right. He didn’t look at them right away.

“We are here to visit a patient,” Rolf spoke, hoping his tone would garner them some attention. It did, but only barely. The guard heaved a heavy sigh before setting his book down.

“Visiting hours are over at five,” The man recited robotically, “Please display this pass in your windshield until you leave. Speak with the front desk to be escorted to the patient. Thanks.” The guard handed Rolf a piece of card-stock with a number and the institution’s logo on it and pressed a loud electric buzzer that opened the gate before returning to his crosswords.

Rolf rolled up his window. They drove forward without a word.

The parking lot was almost empty, save for a few expensive looking cars with staff passes displayed on their mirrors and a handful of other guests scattered about. It wasn’t hard to find a spot near the doors.

Nelson took a deep breath as he stepped out of the car. Even Maine’s air was different from New York’s. It was kind of nice, really. But anything was nice compared to the city now. He frowned; the air was suddenly not enough to pull him away from the gravity of their visit here.

The front doors of the institution were plate glass, the kind that was laced inside with a pattern of thin metal wire. Another subtle security measure, in case any visitors had forgotten just what it was they were walking into after their trek across the parking lot.

The lobby was sterile white, lit harshly with cheap florescent bulbs that hummed dismally in their fixtures. Three of the four walls were lined with cheap looking plastic chairs; the fourth was home to a large wooden desk behind which a sharply dressed woman sat.

She peered at them above horn rimmed spectacles as they approached her. She didn’t smile.

“Visiting?” Her voice was sharp. She had the air of a very old fashioned librarian about her.

“Yes,” Nelson responded first, pulling his hands from his pockets as he approached the desk. Rolf remained several paces out of sync with him, and silent.

“Name?”

“Byron Lewis,”

Something changed across the librarian-receptionist’s face and she pushed her glasses up to actually meet her eyes. “Byron doesn’t get many visitors these days,” She shifted in her chair, wheeling it across the floor to a file cabinet that she proceeded to rifle through, “Well, not many of our patients get many visitors these days, people have too many other things about. But Byron, Byron doesn’t get any at all.” She retrieved the file she was looking for and flipped it open to a blank page labeled ‘Visitor Sign-In’.

“Sign here,” She presented the sheet to them. As they did, she picked up the phone and dialed in a handful of digits. “Guests here to see Byron Lewis,” she paused, “Yes,” another pause, “Thanks Frank,” she hung up. “Have a seat, an attendant will come and get you as soon as Mr. Lewis is ready.”

There was a TV in the corner of the lobby, tuned in to the news but set to mute. Images of New York City were still the only things any reporter would show; aliens, the only things they would discuss. Every day a new scientist was presenting a new theory; a politician making a new promise. It had gone on like this for the past month, and didn’t show any signs of stopping. Nelson had admitted that, despite the horrific tragedy, talks of peace and consolation were better than the threat of war. Rolf, on the other hand, thought there was more to this than just aliens. Nelson thought he was paranoid.

After two silent commercial breaks, a gruff looking man in hospital scrubs appeared at the double doors to the left of the receptionist’s desk. “Mr. Lewis will see you now,”

Rolf and Nelson followed him through the double doors, into a narrow corridor lined with metal doors. Each had a single window, made from the same wired glass as the entrance. Nelson did his best to keep from looking in, not wanting to see the reality of the small padded rooms the patients were kept in.

“Mr. Lewis is a model patient,” Their guide announced as they rounded the corner and proceeded through another set of double doors, “He shouldn’t give you much of a problem. His medicine keeps him relaxed, but he might not speak very much.”

Nelson assumed that was hospital code for ‘we keep him too drugged to cause us any problems,’, but decided not to say anything. However, a side long glance revealed that Rolf was most likely thinking the same thing.

“All the same, we’d appreciate it if you tried to avoid upsetting him,”

They came to a stop before a single door, this one with a large window instead of a narrow one, reveling what looked like a sort of meeting room, rather than a padded cell.

“I’ll be outside if you need anything,” Their guide pushed the door open for them and they stepped inside.

Byron sat opposite them at the table – or rather, the person that Byron Lewis had become, did. This wasn’t the man that either of them had known twenty years ago. He sat hunched over in his chair, arms falling loosely to his sides as he stared blankly past them at the door. His hair had gone grey and his face was lined and marked with the signs of stress and premature aging.

Byron Lewis was a shell of the hero he had once been, but Byron Lewis was alive, and that was why they had come.

“Hello Byron,” It was Nelson who spoke first, taking a seat at the table slowly and shifting it to meet the other man’s eyes. Rolf followed suit, but remained silent, crossing his arms across his chest. “It’s Nelson…You remember, right? Captain Metropolis. It’s Captain Metropolis and Hooded Justice. You remember us, don’t you?”

Byron’s expression didn’t change, even as he slowly shook his head. “Dreams,” his voice sounded like gravel under tires, “You’re the people in my dreams. You’re not real.”

Nelson frowned, “We’re real, Byron, we’re right here. So much has changed since we last saw you…”

Byron flinched, his eyes suddenly darting between the two men across from him, “Ghosts in masks, imaginary heroes. Too much pretend, waste of time,”

“The Minutemen, Byron.” Rolf spoke up, “We worked together, and we are real,”

Byron’s eyebrows drew together, his entire demeanor shifting from confused to…something else entirely, “…Minutemen…”

“Byron…Eddie and Hollis, you remember them, right? The Comedian and Nite Owl? They’re dead, Byron…A lot of people have died, in New York. A lot of friends…We thought…well…We thought you deserved to know.”

“The Comedian and Nite Owl…” Byron repeated slowly, shaking his head, “…I miss them. I miss everyone now…I let everyone down,” His voice hitched in his throat, a wave of emotion suddenly taking him off guard, “When you see them, tell them I’m sorry…and…and tell Bill that he never came to visit me like he promised he would…I know he’s busy…super heroes are busy but…”

Rolf tensed in his chair, and Nelson’s frowned deepened. “…Byron…Bill is dead…you were there, remember? You were at his funeral with the rest of us…And now Hollis and Eddie are dead too…the Minutemen are gone…”

Byron continued on, eyes not focused on either of them now. His lips curled up into an awkward smile, “They won’t give me my costume back…Can’t be a super hero without a costume, can I? Super heroes need costumes…”

“Byron, you are not a super hero any more, none of us-” Nelson held up a hand and shook his head to cut Rolf off.

Rolf had never been known for his sensitivity, so Nelson couldn’t really blame him for getting short with the other man, especially when these topics were still so raw to both of them, but anger was not going to make the situation any better.

“Don’t worry, Byron, they all miss you too, and we’ll…We’ll tell Bill that for you when we see him, alright?” Nelson’s voice got caught in his throat, “But you don’t need to worry, the world…is…the world is different now, okay? We can all retire now, that’s what we came to tell you. The world is safe now.”

“We did it?” There was hope in Byron’s voice now, as he stared off into his dream world, where the two men in front of him were both there and somewhere far, far away. “We saved the world? There won’t be a war?”

Nelson nodded, his jaw tense, “Yeah…Yeah, we did it. There isn’t going to be a war. We did it.”

As he spoke, the stomach churning images of the dead, strewn in the streets of New York City clawed at the back of his minds. He suddenly felt very ill. Rolf placed a hand on his shoulder.

Byron relaxed back into his chair, his awkward smile still in place as he stared past them. “Good…Good. I’m glad. Tell everyone, when you see them…that I said hello, and that I’m sure I’ll see them soon, alright?”

Nelson nodded, swallowing hard as he stood up. “We will, Byron…Goodbye, old friend,”

They’d done and said everything they possibly could.

As they returned to their car, Rolf finally spoke. “Was that the right thing to do? To lie to him?”

Nelson bowed his head as he pulled open the passenger side door. “It was the only thing we could do, wasn’t it? He deserves some kind of peace, even if it’s peace in a lie, don’t you think?”

 

“I don’t know,”

“Neither do I.”

As they drove away, Nelson let his mind wander. They had told Byron Lewis a lie, yes, but…the world really had been saved, hadn’t it? There was no approaching doom, no looming nuclear war…That was what they had wanted, wasn’t it?

As it turned out, the only thing they couldn’t save had been themselves.


End file.
